


No Death, No Sleep

by dem horns (FingerstheZombie)



Series: No Escape [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Non Consensual, Other, Rape, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-10 08:30:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FingerstheZombie/pseuds/dem%20horns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Tender loving rapeporn.</p>
    </blockquote>





	No Death, No Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Tender loving rapeporn.

It’s not even nine in the morning and there’s already been a need for a new office chair. There’s plenty of blood over the current one and it upsets the highblood almost as much as that tealblood’s incessant whining had. But today will be a good day, yes it will be. The shade he has added to the very carefully tempered jar is exquisite and he’s sure it’ll go along fine with the ones in his chambers.

The knock on the door comes as it should, and being the very gracious official he is and with all his nice ranks and the very dark colors across the room and he opens his great maw of a mouth with a clear “COME IN MOTHERFUCKER.” 

The highblood has an amazingly large amount of hate for the current Orphaner. It comes as no surprise that he enjoys calling in the seadweller at every chance he has. So far they've only met once, at the small coronation ceremony, he’s managed to avoid meeting with the highblood at least six times within the last sweep, out of all the trolls that have passed through his most esteemed offices, this is the one he’s been waiting for the longest. Dualscar is a haughty little shithead, his name doesn’t even have any meaning, supposedly an in-joke that nobody’s told the GRAND HIGH BLOOD oh no the leader of the motherfucking cult of the Mirthful Messiahs shouldn’t know why or how.

As the still somewhat boyish sedweller enters it’s with only a slight flick of his eyes that he notes the fallen tealbood on the floor, the sorry remains of furniture and her smeared gore on the sturdy stone wall. Dualscar already thinks he’s got this in the bag.

Social niceties are made, introductions and greetings and finally he can do what he had fully intended on doing- grilling the fin faced fuck shit. But despite all inquiries Dualscar refuses to spill his guts. There’s nothing to-hide he insists lies of course, and the highblood can smell the truth floating in the air, what is it, what is it that he’s hiding so deep and buried.

The pinstriped pants really, really suit the seadweller, despite the rapid feeling that his belly is filling with something colder than the purest of ice and the fact that they are now laying in a small rumpled pile around his feet. Breaths are choked, erratic, deep bowing that make his lungs expand out too wide and he can’t manage to make them even again, not with the feeling of a warm hand on his back, claws digging in ever so lightly; solid weight of the highblood’s hips against his ass every few seconds, subtle touches. Tiny little licks of hot fluid movement tells him what’s going to happen soon.

Pressure lessons and the highblood’s touches lessen, “ROLL OVER SEA MUTT” Dualscar’s acquired a distinctive tremble to his person at this point in time and he does so exquisitely slow. The grandest of highbloods takes in a deep breath, willing himself to not simply slip his claws into the smaller troll’s flesh and dig, and dig, and dig into the calling layers for the cold wet slop that is seablood. Every tendril of the seadweller’s bulge is out, slicked down and under, forming a pathetic and fragile brace; trying to protect the entrance to his nook, the sight feels somewhat endearing to the bigger troll.

Every breath the seadweller takes is in through his neck, the hand that has ghosted over his face is putting enough pressure to make him very, very aware of the fact that the highblood could simply rip off every inch of skin on his body. He’s never wanted to be this close, and the subjuggler is aware of that from the way his eyes are gleaming so very softly and sweetly in the low light. Indigo blood threatens to spill from the bite wounds, but as he brushes his hand against the seaweller’s smooth neck it seems to still, at least for the moment. The highblood is ridged, tense, solid sinew and an seemingly unending knot of tentacles.

When the highblood’s hips meet the soft cleft of the space between his legs a new wave of bitter, brackish terror hits Dualscar. There’s a sudden flurry of movement as he claws and shreds at the hand covering him. And the reply he receives is the highblood forcing his head up, wave shaped horns clack against and hook over the edge of the desk and the thumb on the side of his jaw threatens to rip into his scalp. It doesn’t do anything of course to stop what’s happening, the highblood’s bulge is thick and slippery, fully engorged and they slip under and wheedle away the contenders before starting to poke and pry into the other’s nook.

From the way that Dualscar freezes and sobs it’s clear that he might not be used to putting his nook to use, a slender smile works up on the highblood’s mouth, and the tears from earlier get smudged when a thumb starts to wipe them up. “Do not worry, I won’t break you too hard.” He gives a sweet, solid buck that pinches the other’s tendrils against his pubis painfully; the grinding is slow, and his tentacles can’t all fit in at once, but he tries, and keeps rolling his hips forward, the other’s nook squeezing nice and tight, twitching and the look on Dualscar’s face is simply priceless.

Sternum stretched upwards, and he feels like his heart will burst out as will his lungs and the edges of his ribs in a glorious blooming but all he wants is to die this instant, not the feel the strain of the muscles over his abdomen, arms, neck. Not the shudder in his eyes as he tries to will the tears away, slow feeling of the warmth coiling around the droplets that pool in his brow or the harsh feeling of his horns bending slightly under his own weight and the pain at the meeting in his skull. A gasp of pain is stolen from him when another tentacle adds to the widening of his nook, he can feel several of them coiling around his thighs, squirming thick lines of purple against his skin.

It feels like an eternity of pain, the highblood’s bulge slowly feeling along his nook at a luxurious pace. A low rumble comes from the massive troll, breaking the sound of squelching tentacles, he leans over slowly, breath warm and sweet with someone else’s blood on Alternia’s deep dark night. Dualscar’s eyes flick away and a few fresh tears slip out and he feels his skin crawl and he feels the revulsion want to boil out his mouth, he wants to spew but all he can do is keep the quiet wretched feeling locked down tight against his heart. A long, thick tongue slips against the edge of one eyebrow, down and into the hollow above his eye, lapping at the spitefully salty tears, the smell of the sea is thick, ground into his skin and into the little cracks around his mind.

Nearly quiet nosing continues into the other hollow, soft, heavily warm breath washing over his eyes shut so nice and tight. His fins are tiny and tucked against his hairline, praying to be spared the giant’s touch, the seadweller wants to scream and bite and spit in the land-dwelling fool’s face. His claws dig in with each buck, the high blood starts to move faster in tiny increments, his bulge jitters and insists that simply siding back and forth against warming flesh isn't enough, he starts to jab and press roughly at all sides and try to find an end.

Dualscar’s trembling painfully hard, and there’s a harsh series of contractions along the inner lining of his nook, he can feel the other’s bulge against the tissue separating his nook from his coiled, hidden bulge. He starts to scrabble against the other troll again, legs trying to force him off, arms pressing against hand. There’s a loud “NO MOTHERFUCKER,” and there’s his lips peeled back and the flat of sharp teeth laying against the scaly asshole’s cheek, “NOT WHEN WE ARE GETTING SO CLOSE NOW.” skin gets pinched with the talking. The heavy lump in his throat gets swallowed down and his Adam’s apple bobs painfully with it.

And he feels like he’s passed a blood clot in his aorta when the stinging heat starts to spread and fill in his nook with thick genetic martial. He’s sure that he’s been torn, knows it, feels it in the way that he feels his heart is dribbling and shattered. The gills on his rib-cage are wide open and trying to help him breath but no water meets him and the solidity of the disappointment grinds badly at his mind. The highblood’s got one hand under the seadweller’s groin and his own bulge, he tilts the other’s hips up as he goes, catching the stray drops of genetic material that didn't manage to find their way into the seadweller’s nook in his outstretched hand.

When he senses it’s over, the highblood hooks a finger into the low blood’s mouth, teeth catch on him but he minds very, very little, Dualscar still has the highblood between his legs and he’s shut his nook painfully tight, bulge coiled and hidden and his eyes are dancing around the room and anywhere but the big troll, not his horns, not his hands and when there’s something wet and indigo smoothly poured into his mouth he has to awkwardly swallow it. The indigo finds the motion almost ritualistic, closed gills keeping any of the fluid from escaping by accident; the finger slips out and when he presses his wrist to the other’s lip he speaks “Clean it.” the command is easy.

But it forces the other’s eyes to him again, and there’s a dark grey tongue collecting the rest, removing the colored taint. He feels faint from the pace he’s been breathing at, the danger at hand. The highblood collects himself and slips away. There’s the slightly hushed sounds of him getting dressed. “YOU MIGHT WANT TO LEAVE MOTHERFUCKER, YOU BETTER NOT MISS YOUR NEXT APPOINTMENT.” there’s a polite silence where the highblood eyes the seadweller before he leaves, “I’LL FIND WHAT YOU ARE HIDING.”


End file.
